


It'll be fine

by SolBaby



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: A little snippit, Teen AU, Teenage Cousin Shenanigans AU, family au, from a tumblr suggestions, just a fun oneshot of the kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolBaby/pseuds/SolBaby
Summary: Fethry smiles like the sun and laughs the way stars shine, and is a tornado of love that you have absolutely no guard against. He's finally asleep, curled up on the couch in the circle of Della's arms, and is casually the most important thing in the world to you and completely unaware of the fact.But it's fine.This is fine.And you'll continue to make it fine for as long as it takes for him to never have to experience that kind of world-bending fear ever again.





	It'll be fine

Fethry smiles like the sun and laughs the way stars shine, and is a tornado of love that you have absolutely no guard against. He's finally asleep, curled up on the couch in the circle of Della's arms, and is casually the most important thing in the world to you and completely unaware of the fact.

But it's fine.

This is fine.

And you'll continue to make it fine for as long as it takes for him to never have to experience that kind of world-bending fear ever again.

* * *

You had no way of preventing it from happening. How could you? None of you knew. Fethry didn't  _let_  you know. And you can only wonder why he kept a secret like this from you.  _You_  of all people.

But, you guess you deserve it. After all, it's  _you_  who let him down. If only you had been there sooner, turned the corner fast enough, hadn't been too preoccupied with flirting with senior girls. Maybe you could have prevented it from happening. Maybe you could have been the brave older cousin for once, the one Donald and Della always are, the one Fethry's always seen you as.

But you didn't, so you aren't, and you feel like just about the most useless guy in the world.

You had just finished with study hall, your last period of the day, and were on your way to where the Junior high halls connected with the high school ones. If anyone asks, you'll always complain about it, but you're kind of secretly happy that your school is small enough so that middle schoolers and high schoolers all share one building. You've always met by Donald and Della's classes after school ended, and you aren't really prepared to break from that tradition now that Don and Del are freshmen.

But they're only a few hallways down from yours, and Fethry is probably already hanging off of Donnie's arms with that teasing playfulness about him that only he can get away with, and you're too far gone wondering if Del's lockers are next to some pretty upperclassman's to really notice anything until the slamming of a locker door pulls you back from your daydreams abruptly.

You don't really know, or really care, why the hallway was crowded around a particular locker, but you try to sneak through the cracks and the gaps of the crowd because you're on a mission and you have a hand that is criminally free of any cute seniors numbers in black sharpie.

But then you hear it.

The distant shouting and banging of metal that causes you to stop dead in your tracks and the fact that it seems all too familiar has your blood running cold. You strain your ears because it's really all you can do among the sea of bodies you feel lost in, but you hear it. You hear  _him_. And you can find his voice in a crowded room like it was a  _job_ , so you don't feel an ounce of shame when you push your way through the mob until you're front and center of the action.

Bullies exist everywhere, you're not really surprised by that, but the school year just started, and you think it's a little cruel for some Juniors to be pushing middle schoolers into lockers this early on. If you were Donald, you probably would have straight up started a fight, not caring who the kid was, but ready to throw down with bullies any time of the day just on the principle that jerks deserve to get their beaks punched in. If you were Della, you wouldn't hesitate to try and break the kid-free, all while giving the offender a tongue lashing of the life time that they wouldn't be getting over anytime soon.

But you're not your cousins. You're Gladstone Glander, and you don't really know what to do other than try to grasp the situation for what it is.

In the short, few moments you spend standing there, you understand that one of the sixth graders accidentally popped one of the football player's footballs. There was a bit of shoving, and it had looked like a few fists would have been thrown if one of the sixth grader's friend's hadn't intervened. Said friend, was now stuck in the locker.

The sixth grader was still on the floor, and he was still yelling,  _begging_  for the upperclassman to let his friend out. But the upperclassman didn't do more than throw harsh laughter and snide comments in his face before banging hard on the closed locker in mock aggravation, waving a piece of fabric (you really didn't care enough to take stock of it) in the air like a trophy. The kid in the locker was banging back against the locker door frantically, despite the harassment of the Juniors, but you couldn't afford to fret about them just yet.

No, at the moment, you were too busy trying to scan past the heads that were all tuned into the scene in front of you, because you were sure,  _could have sworn_ , that you heard his voice-

" _Ok guys, this is_ really _not funny, let me out! Let me out **now**!  **Please**!_ "

And your head whipped around to the sound of Fethry's voice coming from the closed locker so hard you should have broken something.

And you felt like your gut was filling with mud and something heavy and sickening.

"I don't know what you mean, it's plenty funny for us," one of the Juniors with the crooked nose smiled cruelly, banging the solid metal again, each hit rattling your bones and echoing through your ribcage hollowly. "If can't take the heat, don't jump into the frying pan kid. Mind your own fucking business next time."

The Junior next to him laughed when the crooked nose teen hit the locker so hard, Fethry yelped from inside, a breathy and cracked ' _please, **stop**_ ' breaking at the edge of his voice when he called out, and you only now realized the fabric they had been tossing to each other was Fethry's stocking cap.

"Let him out.  _Now_." You heard yourself growl through sharp, clenched teeth, doing everything in your power to keep your hands from trembling at your sides and your vision from going red.

The Juniors all had turned to you, but they did little more than regard you with raised eyebrows and passively bored looks.

"Back off  _curls_ , it's not your beef." One of them snorted, a portly, stubbly teen that you could only assume was the ringleader. One of the other Juniors had tossed him Fethry's cap and he was now twirling it around on one finger, his beady black eyes looking down on you like you were just another clover in a green field.

"My  _cousin_ , my  _beef_ ," you barked, swiping the cap from the fat teen in one effortless step. "Let him out. I'm not gonna ask again."

" _Gladdy? Is that you_?" You heard Fethry call, his muffled voice shaking just on the short side of panic and your blood boiled with an anger you didn't know what to do with.

The ringleader's eyes narrowed dangerously as he stood up straight and towered over you. "Fuck off brat, and if you're lucky, I won't-"

Was all he got to say before you punched him square in the throat as hard as you could. It was the only thing you could think to do at the moment and was really the only thing you  _could_  reach with him hovering over you. You didn't have the patience to try and get a better angle. The fat teen stumbled backwards, hands clenched at his throat as he coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath again.

"You won't do squat because I'm  _always_  lucky." And you were  _seething_. You had the distant thought that that punch  _really_ hurt your hand, and that you  _really_  weren't cut out for fighting like Don was, but it was pushed down by the more ringing thought that sounded like alarms bells in your head. The ' _family, danger, family_ ' sirens that gave you tunnel vision were blaring numbly in your ears and only let you focus on the locker in front of you. "Fethry, just hang on buddy, I'm gonna get you out."

" _Hurry, Gladdy, I don't... I want to get out of here. Like **now**._ "

And you would have torn down the locker door then and there because it had sounded like Fethry had started crying, and if that were the case then there was little on this earth that could stop you from throwing open the doors and wrapping Fethry in a hug that he'd never outgrow no matter how old he got.

But someone had punched you square in the jaw, you didn't take note of who, and you were thrown sideways into the lockers beside Fethry's. The loud metal clang rang throughout the hallways like a silencing gong, and it was the only thing you could hear for a while even though you knew the hallway was alive with the buzz of shocked students.

Someone had grabbed you by your shirt color and was propping you up against the lockers now. You were a little dizzy, your vision not really catching up with the rest of you, but you were able to concentrate a glare at the crooked nose teen. Your jaw throbbed like it was on fire.

"You're gonna really wish you hadn't done that." He hissed at you, and despite yourself, you smiled back at him.

"Not likely, I take my wishes  _very_  seriously." You spat out, and it had earned you another slug to the stomach. It hurt, it hurt so bad, and you would have doubled over in pain if crooked nose didn't have an iron grip on your shirt collar, so you coughed out a haggard wheeze instead because it was really all you  _could_  do.

You distantly heard Fethry calling out your name as he rapped against the inside of the locker, and the tone of his voice was the only thing keeping you focused.

He's afraid. He's afraid out of his wits. And he's calling out for you and you can barely stand let alone help him and you're  _pathetic_. You wished you could be strong like Don. You wished you could be gutsy like Del. You wished you could be brave enough to stand up on your own and help the person who needs you most but you aren't.

So you can't.

So when crooked nose tightens his grip on your shirt and pulls back a clenched fist, you do little more than steal yourself, shut your eyes and hope to lady luck that he misses your beak.

Because you're not good at standing up for others. You're not good at fighting back. You're not good at protecting your baby cousin. You're not  _good_  at anything, period. All you have is your luck, and even that didn't help you from getting decked or saving a panic Fethry.

So you clench your teeth and wait for the punch that you probably deserve. At least it's you he's punching and not someone else. At least you can do this much.

But that third punch never came. Instead, you feel something pull the bullies grasp from you roughly and in one fluid motion, tearing one of the buttons off your shirt.

The firm presence of his back in front of you, solidly placing itself between you and everyone else, was so warm and familiar that you didn't even need to open your eyes to recognize it. But slowly, you do anyway.

And Donnie is the same height as you, but you can't help but be in awe of how broad his shoulders are and how bold his back is as you hide behind it like the eight-year-old you used to do so many years ago. Back when you were smaller and the world was bigger and the bullies were still the same mean jerks they are now. And so many things are different now, but some things you suppose will never change. Like how you still get yourself into stupid situations, and how Don will always be there to get you out of them.

"Touch him again, and you'll be breathing through a tube, Leopard. I suggest you let that one marinate." And you can only assume what kind of glare Don was giving him when he said that, but you were glad you were on  _this_  side of your cousin and not on the receiving end of  _that_  kinda look.

Because Don loses his temper on the daily, and you know a lot of his tantrums are your fault (you can't help it, you like messing with him) but you've only seen him really lose a couple of times. Those few times were never at you, you know better than to push him too far and not push a joke that only meant to tease instead of cut, but they were still terrifying and you felt your blood run cold all the same.

That practically crippling rage and undeniable hatred that turned his vision red and bloodied his palms from shaking nails digging too deep into taut fists. Don didn't talk about his anger much, not to you anyway, and you can't very well blame him from what he has disclosed to you.

Basically, it was just as terrifying to him as it was to you, and it feels like your drowning in your own hurt and wrath. And sometimes it feels like you're sinking slowly, like you can control how far you go, and other times it feels like cement blocks are tied to your feet, pulling you down faster and faster with no bottom in sight.

 _'The scariest part is not knowing where the bottom is,'_  he once told you on a November night, when one of your fights turned a little too physical, a little too real a little too fast, and both of you had to take a breather to cool your heads. It was you who went looking for him, because like all your fights, it was you who was the instigator so it was always you who apologized first, regardless of if you meant it or not.

You found him on the porch swing, looking at his hands like they were covered in some hidden filth you couldn't see. You sat with him on that porch swing for a long time, not talking and not really noticing how cold it was, just mimicking each others breathing patterns and watching your breath circulate in the yellow porch light before dissolving into nothing.

 _'It's blinding, and pitch dark, and you don't know how far you'll go until it's too far, and then once you get there, it's already too late, and you're left with nothing else to grab on_ to  _pull you back up'._

You don't really know what he meant then. You still don't really know what he meant even now. And you don't  _try_  to understand it, because it sounded painful, and so burdening and like it was tearing him apart in places you couldn't see so you didn't even have the slightest idea on how to help him.

Hearing his tone of voice was enough to send those  _spidey sense_  danger sirens through your skull again and tie knots in your stomach, so you grab onto the back of Don's jacket and never wonder if you did it to steady yourself or to steady him.

"It's ok Fethry, Don and I are right here. We're right outside and we're gonna get you out. Shhhh, it'll be ok."

You attention snapped back beside you, and Della has somehow materialized in front of the locker Fethry was in, speaking soft reassurances like it was her day job, and in that completely captivatingly kind way that had you calm in seconds.

Della always had a way with words, always knew the right things to say, like all it took was a smile off her lips and a kiss to the forehead to make the worst things in life good again. She was good at making the whole world make sense, like how some people were good at making pancakes, and it was evident in the way Fethry remained silent in still from behind the locked door. Probably leaning into Della's heartened words like you'd learned into a hug, and soaking up all the warmth and love out of them.

" _Is Gladdy ok_?" You heard him hiccup after a few beats, almost a whisper compared to the blood pounding in your ears. And you felt yourself drop to your knees next to where Della was working on picking the lock with hairpins you didn't care to wonder how she got.

"I'm right here Feth. I'm ok. Everything is going to be just fine. You're safe. It'll only take a few more seconds, just, hang on buddy." And you ignored the aching bruise you could feel blooming across your jawline and the creased brow Della flashed at you in favor of lying to Fethry for just this moment. You would have told him just about anything he wanted to hear, to be honest, if it meant adding a little of your own warmth in helping make sure Fethry didn't feel so alone and scared.

You couldn't save him like you thought you could, but maybe, this could be enough for now.

You ignored the bullies that were now reforming at the edges of the cleared circle of the crowd, glaring at you with what you could only assume were daggers and whispering grudges you didn't bother trying to hear. You didn't have to worry about them now that Don was here, folding his arms in front of himself as he stood like a wall between the three of you and the rest of the school with a conviction that would take a tank to tear down.

So with Fethry's cap tucked away safely in your hands, which at the back of your mind was somehow impressed you managed to hang on to, you focused on helping Della get the locker open. Saying just about everything under the sun that could pass the time and take Fethry's mind off of things until you all let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding when the lock unhinged with a satisfying click of metal.

And like a bullet out of a gun, Fethry shot out of the locker with so much vigor that neither you or Della had enough time to guard yourselves as he plowed into you, like he couldn't get out of the dark space fast enough.

And he was crying. Crying the way children did when they were convinced that the monster under their bed would get them, and you were unprepared for the way it broke your heart. He heaved into Della's shoulder, clutching the folds of her shirt with shaking hands like it was the only lifeline in the world as giant, wild tears rolled down his cheeks. His breathing was hitched and ragged, like he hadn't been breathing the whole time he was in there, and he gasped for air when he begged ' _please don't let me go back in there, please, I can't go back in there._ '

Della's arms clung almost as tightly around Fethry as his hold on her, and she pierced you with eyes that glowed with a raw, electric intensity. Something determined setting behind those wide irisis that you could feel in the deepest parts of your soul. And a shared understanding passed between the two of you in the span of a second, one that would be imprinted on both of you for the rest of your lives. "Fethry, it's ok. You're safe. I'm here. And I'm never letting go of you again."

It took what felt like a forever and half, but Donnie was able to scare off the bullies with almost little effort as you, with the help of the 6th grader whose name you learned was Woody, one of the millions of friends Fethry was able to make in his first few days of school, dispersed the crowd who shuffled away agreeably enough, until it was just the four of you standing in the hallway.

Finally, after some soft coaxing, Fethry eased his grasp on Della so that they could both stand up, only letting go of her once to put on his signature cap that you wordlessly offered to him. Della and him stood as far away from the lockers as possible, Fethry leaning into the window side of the hallway as far as he could while you and Don picked up all your backpacks that had been disregarded in the fuss, before you all headed out of the school and into the parking lot.

Gus was waiting for you, his hat laid comfortably over his eyes as he leaned back in the driver seat, stealing a quick nap in the time it took you all to get out of school and you had to bite down the disappointment that dropped in your stomach when you saw that he had decided to bring the old pickup today.

"Fethry and I will ride in the back. Get some air on your faces. It's a gorgeous sunny afternoon," Della had declared before anyone else had time to dwell on the fact that no one wanted to squeeze Fethry into the small seats up front. She smiled liked it was common sense and Donald nodded along like it was second nature and opened up the truck door to help them get in, while you piled into the middle seat up front next to Gus, shoving all of your backpacks in the small space behind the seat bench and elbowing Gus awake.

And just like that, you were off down the dusty dirt roads back to Granny's farm, huddled between Gus and Donald while you kept your eyes squarely on the rearview mirror. Fethry was still glued to Della's arm but he was smiling that smile that could melt glaciers, and despite the tints of pinks cornering his eyes, you could barely tell that only minutes before, he'd been sobbing like it was the end of the world. You could see his mouth moving, chatting in that amiable way that won him so many smiles from you, but with the windows down, you had no idea what he was saying. It didn't matter though, because then he was making Della laugh, and holding out his arms under the sunny September sky like it was a blue he could  _feel_.

"So," you draw out, breaking the silence and tearing your eyes away from the rearview mirror. "He's claustrophobic."

"Hmmm? Who is?" Gus asked halfheartedly, but you ignored his question when Donald rested his chin on the back of his palm where his arm was propped on the open window frame.

"Did you know?" He asks, not taking his eyes off the green pastures that pass outside the window, and you  _know_  he's not trying to pick a fight, but something in you shakes with an intense ferocity that makes you  _want_  to fight him.

"Of course I didn't know! How on earth could I have known? He never told me!" You start to shout, but catch your tongue just in time to see Donald turn his attention on you, the blue in his eyes electric with something wild and fierce and protective and you realize that he didn't know about it either. And it hurt him in a way that it wasn't supposed to.

"Do you think... he's always been like this?" Donald probs, and your mind races with the idea.

Because Fethry didn't keep secrets. He was as open as a threadbare paperback book, with wrinkled pages and dog-eared corners and pressed flowers between the texts that is well worn with years of love and adoration. Fethry was the type of kid with the conscious of a golden retriever puppy and told on himself long before anyone even realized something was broken or missing. And if he did keep one or two secrets, he certainly didn't keep them from you or Don or Del.

But if he did, you have to wonder why. Why keep this a secret? Fethry looked absolutely sick with fear, his whole body trembling like he was stuck in that locker for far longer than just a handful of minutes. And just seeing the pure panic on his face was enough to make you feel nauseated, like someone was squeezing the most tender parts of your heart with faint ghost fingers. This shouldn't have been something he should ever have kept to himself. Not a fear like this. Not when it crippled him to the point of earth-shattering tears.

You felt pathetic, for a multitude of reasons, but you supposed that why's Donnie fixed you with those electric eyes like headlights in the dark when he asked, "How's your cheek doing? You got slugged pretty hard."

You resist the urge to run a hand over your jaw just to test its sensitivity and shrug. "Not bad, don't worry about it. It probably looks worse than it feels." You lie because it's easier than letting him worry about you too on top of Fethry's newly discovered phobia.

You turn your attention back onto the rearview mirror, continually ignoring Gus's 'Who're  _y'all talking about?'_ s and Donnie's ' _We'll tell you later_ 's and not answering back when Don lowly mentions a "We'll ice it when we get home," in favor of watching the wind ripple through Della's hair and threaten to take a hold on Fethry's cap.

And there was really no arguing further than that, because there were just some things not worth arguing about, and you know better than anyone that sometimes, when the moral is this low and tensions are high, you just need to suck it up and let someone take care and worry about you.

When they got back to the ranch, granny had already left to go to an overnight cattle show that was being held in the next few counties over, so they basically had a run of the night and most of the next day. Since it was a Friday, they didn't bother with chores or homework and just opted to laze about for the rest of the evening and just piled their backpacks by the foot rack on their way to the kitchen.

It was pretty evident that Fethry was already on the mend, bouncing around and goofing off and cracking bad jokes like his usual 11-year-old self. With all the energy and warmth of the sun, like the incident from only an hour ago never happened, and you couldn't help but breathe a little and laugh along when he pulled you along into the kitchen to bug Don about dinner plans.

Don caved after about 4 seconds, a new record, of Fethry's puppy dog stare and let Del call for pizza. However, you didn't have the same luck (weird, you know) when Don told you to plant your butt in one of the island swivel chairs so that he could take a look at your bruise and you vehemently refused. But you can't win against Fethry either, when he looked at you with a whole world of worry and guilt, so you shake him off and do as your told, and only complain twice when Don hands you a cold bag of peas wrapped in a wet dish towel to hold against your jaw.

You don't listen when Fethry tries to apologize, because ' _it's not your fault in the slightest,_ ' and ' _it's not a big deal, I'm fine Feth_ ,' followed closely by _'you should have seen the porker when I clocked him in the throat. Would have tried to aim for his nose but the dude's stupid tall_ ,' just to make Fethry laugh. Which he did, and it sounded like chimes and felt like a ray of sunshine that made basically everything bad that ever happened in your life worth it.

The rest of the night was spent binge watching a marathoned Duckwing Duck special and dogpiling on the couch. You were caught somewhere under the arms of Don with your legs resting on the rising and falling chest of a sleeping Gus. And you weren't really watching the show as much as you were listening to the ramblings of Fethry explaining every poorly executed stunt or fight scene with a wonder and excitement you wished he'd never outgrow.

And you know that what happened today changed you all, left something daunting over your heads that you had to face at one point or another. But right now Gus was snoring soundly at your side, and Don was leaning on you with a comfortably annoying weight that you'd ignore just this once. And he said something that made Della giggle as she peppered the top of Fethry's head in kisses and Fethry was dozing off with a dopey pizza stained grin on his face, and you thought, this is fine.

These little moments, these tender and raw parts of your hearts that you exposed to each other were something you'd treasure. These were the things you'd die protecting. You'd risk everything for. That you'd work harder to for. To be braver. Stronger. Everything they needed you to be so that it would always, undoubtedly and forever, be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I still need to finish my other two stories, but listen, this was a Tumblr prompt for my TCS AU (Teenage Cousin Shenanigans) that I just HAD to write. If you haven't checked it out already, head to my tcsauaskblog on Tumblr to see the full AU. Lots of drawings and good goofs of Donald, Della, Fethry, and Gladstone being dumb teens and living their best lives. 
> 
> But anyway yeah, I wanted to just write a small oneshot really quick of something that happens in the au. I'm going to work on another Fic as well which will be longer and be more about how Abner fits into the story but yeah cool cool thanks for y'all being so patient with me on the Charting Maps fic, I promise I'll get back to it just give me a few more to put all my thoughts in order cause that'll be QUITE the chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again for understanding babes, leave a comment of what you think! Lots of love! <3


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